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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176939">wait to call</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanatsuyu/pseuds/nanatsuyu'>nanatsuyu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Assassins &amp; Hitmen, Diet Fluff, Emotionally Repressed, Family Bonding, Family Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mild Blood, Minor Injuries, Wholesome Twinyards, implied Kandreil, no jean isnt dead i love him too much, thats a mandatory tag for this series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:21:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,842</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanatsuyu/pseuds/nanatsuyu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You do your job, and I’ll do mine,” Andrew said without any heat. He placed the gun down, eyes sliding to Aaron’s. Gears were turning, like he was deciding on how much he should say; what he was willing to give up in a conversation that should have happened a long time ago when it was still reasonable to ask. </p><p>“Forget I asked—” Aaron decided he didn’t want to know. The answer would probably haunt him more than the question.</p><p>“I wasn’t done,” Andrew bit off.</p><p>Aaron took another drink.</p><p>“At the end of the day the same blood gets spilled. As long as it’s not ours, I don't care who pulls the trigger.” </p><p>Aaron thought that ‘ours’ sounded suspiciously like ‘yours.’</p><p>---<br/>Or, the five times Aaron reaches out for Andrew, and the one time Andrew reaches back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaron Minyard &amp; Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>AFTG Exchange Winter 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>wait to call</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdzeword/gifts">nerdzeword</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was for the <a>aftg winter exchange</a>! nerdzeword wanted a bit of wholesome twinyard bonding in an au, and well it got away from me. This is all loosely based off hitman games and rusty metal gear lore.</p><p>First time posting for this fandom, so I hope you enjoy! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I.</p><p> </p><p>Dying wasn’t exactly what Andrew thought it would be. </p><p>Basic training taught him how to apply pressure to the wound and avoid bleeding all over the floor. Advanced training taught him how to make a tourniquet out of anything and use leftover office supplies to suture himself back together. But the stray shrapnel digging under his ribs with every breath? Life and experience taught him it was too deep to extract on his own, and even if he <em> could </em>, the extra five minutes it would grant him wasn’t a lot to work with in the grand scheme of things. He wasn't going to spend them on any faux cinematic last words that would fall on deaf ears. Whatever he needed to say had already been said, and he wasn't in the habit of repeating himself.</p><p>(His mind helpfully reminded him that this was a lie: he had quite a lot to say to a fair few number of people. They should know, though—how he felt about them. If they didn’t? Well, that wasn’t his fault.</p><p>But that was another lie he wouldn’t have to worry about in roughly four minutes.)</p><p>Andrew let himself sink slowly down the tiled wall till the metal in his lungs didn’t scrape so loudly when he tried to breathe. Tile along the walls and ceiling clung to some forgotten sickly green hue, corners rotting away from water damage and neglect. Distantly, he could hear a persistent drop of water every few seconds and there was probably some poetry in that sound being his setting sun, but Andrew could only think that this was a real shitty place to die.</p><p>The buzz in his ears agreed.</p><p>He had finished the job, though. That’s what counted. He would ultimately be replaced for failing to come back—<em> to come home </em>; another agent for another job for another finite amount of time and so on and so forth. He knew all this when he started, had it drilled into him his whole life. The more his vision began to vignette, the more he wondered if that was something he was alright with. </p><p>Andrew didn't want things; wasn't particularly bothered his life had planned out this way but— </p><p>His phone buzzed, tossed haphazardly aside along with his inner ear comm when he had realized the extent of his injury. Andrew hadn’t called in for any backup, usually because he didn’t need it. He still didn’t technically. Backup wasn’t going to make the last hour never happen. Backup wasn’t going to ensure he ducked left when he should have ducked right and gotten himself shot in the one spot his vest didn’t cover. He should have gotten it fixed like Aaron said. </p><p>Andrew watched the phone blink and buzz. He had pinged the agency to let them know where they would find his body; the least he could do to ensure an easy cleanup. He was certain most of them would be happy to see him go, joyous even that they didn’t have to deal with the collateral he cost them every mission. Efficiency and entertainment were not synonymous by agency standards. </p><p>He hadn’t realized he had shifted again till his head hit the tiled floor with a thud. A bone heavy tiredness was setting in and he thought maybe he could do with a small nap. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept soundly—his own bed had never been so comfortable—but maybe it was when he visited—</p><p>“Why do you <em> always </em> wait to call?” </p><p>The dramatic sigh he tried to heave came up wet as he listened to Aaron's approach, something warm painting the corner of his mouth without effort. A hand pressed against his side, right over his own, still in a vice grip over the wound. Maybe he had a little more dying spirit than he thought. </p><p>A squeeze to his wrist told him it was okay to let go, and as much as Andrew and care went together as well as forks and sockets, he conceded, his own hand falling to the tile. </p><p>“What better way to test your skills,” Andrew mumbled, blinking his eyes to clear the fog. His throat felt raw and the rest of his sarcasm drowned in his lungs.</p><p>Aaron wasn’t looking at him, eyes narrowed over the mess that Andrew regrettably called a chest. His fingers brushed over the wound, spurring Andrew into a flinch he tried to hide. The look Aaron shot him told Andrew two things: <em> save your pride </em> and <em> hold (fucking) still </em>. </p><p>Andrew wasn’t very good at either in these situations. </p><p>“Are you going to stare at me all day or—” Andrew nearly bit through his own lip to stifle a hiss as Aaron did <em> something </em> that shot fire through his lung. If he knew getting saved meant this for the next however long it took Aaron to get it together, Andrew was going to reconsider his options. He tried not to bite the end of every word off as he continued on with his heckling. Dying quietly was also never in his repertoire. “Thought all doctors were supposed to have good bedside manners.”</p><p>Aaron took no pleasure in Andrew’s jeering, or the way he continued to flinch as Aaron assessed the damage. “Shut up. Every time you speak, we both lose another minute off our lives.”</p><p>“And they call me the asshole.” </p><p>“You are,” Aaron shot back.</p><p>Andrew ground his teeth to avoid the way his lips tried to quirk at the corner. “Are guardian angels always this annoying?”</p><p>The slightest twitch of Aaron’s brow was all the indication he gave at Andrew's choice of words. Andrew wondered if this is what he looked like before he pulled the trigger: eyes clear, brow furrowed, and jaw set. There was sweat gathering at Aaron's temple as he dug through a bag Andrew hadn’t heard him drop off. Silver caught his eye and the fire from earlier sparked to an inferno as Aaron began to work at removing the metal. </p><p>His twin's gaze flickered up to watch Andrew attempt to dig his nails into the tile for something to hold onto, dropping back down only when he was sure Andrew wasn’t going to swing at him. It wouldn’t be the first time. Andrew had to give him credit—Aaron had gotten very good at dodging in the last few surgeries. </p><p>Aaron moved quickly and carefully, avoiding any unnecessary contact—for both Andrew’s sake and his own. For a doctor, Aaron was incredibly wary of the marks he left on others. Andrew wouldn’t thank him because that was just a common courtesy, but he didn’t bark as much as he could at his brother. He could save it for another time when his world wasn't spinning in high definition.</p><p>Letting his head thunk back onto the unforgiving tile, Andrew focused on the sound of Aaron’s steady breathing and doing his best to ignore the way he could feel every pinch between his ribs. </p><p>What should have been a five minute death sentence seemed to stretch into five hours. Aaron didn’t like to talk while he worked, and Andrew couldn’t find the energy to needle him. Getting shot did that to a guy. He let the silence stretch, the sounds of metal clinking to the floor with every piece Aaron fished out. The occasional curse would pull Andrew back to the present, consciousness straying from blood loss and a pain tolerance he was positive he had tested the limits of years ago. </p><p>He was nearly out cold when Aaron said his name in a tone he only used when he was delivering bad news to new recruits on their way out. Andrew felt Aaron tug at his sleeve, and drop his hand over the mess he had dug into Andrew's chest.</p><p>"Hold this closed. You're getting staples till we can get back," Aaron said, sweat now slicking his bangs to his forehead. He turned to his bag, rustling through for the rest of his supplies. "If you think of letting go and decide I have just wasted my last hour's work, I'll put all of that metal back where I found it."</p><p>Maybe they had spent a little too much time together lately. Andrew was sure he had said something very similar at some point.</p><p>"Of course, Doc. Wouldn't want your <em> favorite </em> patient to go dying on you yet," Andrew deadpanned. He didn't have to see Aaron to know he was rolling his eyes.</p><p>Aaron tested the staple gun once before pressing it to Andrew's ribs. "Your penchant for nearly getting yourself killed is actually remarkable."</p><p>"Is that pride I hear?"</p><p>"Hardly," Aaron said with surprisingly little sarcasm. </p><p>Andrew had another thought as Aaron worked his way along the wound. It was a curious thing. He wasn't happy to see Aaron; wasn't really relieved either. This was a hazard of the job, and one he was actively prepared for—but he was thousands of miles off base, no call in, and this wasn't a mission Aaron was assigned to.</p><p>So, why was he here?</p><p>As if on cue, Aaron spoke the answer to a question Andrew hadn't asked aloud. "Neil called. I can tell you’re about to do something stupid when the line’s been quiet too long on both ends.” </p><p>Andrew had turned his comm down when things were starting to get heated; not an uncommon move on his part, but tossing them away— </p><p>He just hadn't wanted to hear the voice on the other end in those last moments.</p><p>Rolling back onto his heels, Aaron let his shoulders fall lax, apparently deciding Andrew was stable enough for the moment. His rolled sleeves were dipped in red, but his hands were steady as always, as if this was just another job. As it should be. Andrew didn’t expect to get treated with a delicate hand just because they shared some genetic code here and there. He didn’t <em> need </em> or <em> want </em> to be hovered over—</p><p>“Don’t get used to it,” Aaron said, pushing his hair back and wiping the sweat off his brow. “I’m not your fairy godparent or whatever.” </p><p>“Didn’t ask you to be,” Andrew mused, not bothering to correct the other. “Don’t want you to.”</p><p>Aaron hummed at that, like he didn't believe his twin. There was a couple minutes pause, Aaron's gaze moving about the room like he was seeing what Andrew had just before accepting his mockery of a swan song. He settled on the still buzzing phone, rattling along the tile like whoever was on the other end had nothing else better to do.</p><p>"You should apologize to him," Aaron said without looking away from the phone. He didn't move towards it to placate the caller, only watched as it moved further across the room with every ring.</p><p>Andrew wanted to ask him to clarify, just to be contrarian, but the idea that Aaron might be right made bile stir in his still freshly exposed chest—another ugly metaphor.</p><p>They each knew the hazards this all came with. Expressing any feeling one way or another was only going to get them hurt. </p><p>Neil would have understood. Probably.</p><p>After all, it was just a job.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>II.</p><p> </p><p>There were three issues with having a twin. </p><p>One: Everyone got them confused, regardless of what they did to distinguish themselves—or what Aaron tried to do. Andrew seemed to take enjoyment in watching them struggle to tell the two apart. He wouldn't try to correct them and Aaron couldn't be assed most of the time.</p><p>If there was something Aaron loathed more than getting reprimanded for five minutes straight before the powers that be realized their mistake, he would love to find it. Maybe he could put his energy towards hating that with more enthusiasm than his idiot twin. </p><p>The second issue, and this one was the worse of the two, was that <em> Andrew </em> was his twin.</p><p>Basic training had been hell for them both. Where Aaron kept his nose down, did what he had to to get by and see through the end of his training, Andrew fought tooth and nail for the opposite. Something about being told what to do always sat wrong with the other. Aaron didn’t like being bossed around himself, but Andrew took personal offense and even more personal revenge in the form of a smart mouth and brutal honesty.</p><p>Normally Andrew had a good reason, something that pissed Aaron off to no end, but he supposed it would be worse to deal with if Andrew <em> didn’t </em> have a good reason. A general with a silver tongue meant trouble for someone, and Andrew, although he would never admit it in so many words, was all too eager to whittle down someone's pride who's cup was looking a little full. If a new recruit benefited? Great—but Andrew would fall on his own grenade before admitting it was to 'help' someone.</p><p><em> "It's just too fun to pass up." </em> </p><p>Speak when spoken to and bite the hand that tries to muzzle you rang the same in Andrew's mind. </p><p>So when trouble came knocking at their door on a blessed day off their third year in basic, it didn’t come as a surprise to Aaron. The way Andrew didn’t bother to look the least bit interested in their commander standing in the doorway meant he wasn’t all that surprised either. Something must have been said that he missed, and both of them were about to get an earful because god forbid someone be able to tell the difference—or care to.</p><p>“Minyard.”</p><p>Aaron was already standing by the time they were addressed. Well, Andrew was addressed, but the other hadn’t bothered to sit up from his bed, looking all the world like this was a casual encounter. Aaron suddenly took notice of the more proper way Andrew was dressed, collar in line, hair parted just so—</p><p><em> Christ </em>.</p><p>From the way their commander was flicking his gaze back and forth between them, Aaron wasn’t the only one who caught onto the little game that had been played. It was, however, only beginning to strike Aaron as odd that Andrew hadn't breathed a word of whatever this was about. </p><p>Andrew finally stood up when the commander started towards him, an act of defiance more than deference. Height difference should have set Andrew back a little bit, but he only craned his neck to stare up, unmoving from where he had planted himself. Aaron wondered if his own backbone had a fraction of the steel Andrew’s was made with—or the stupidity. </p><p>When the commander didn’t speak, Andrew finally acknowledged the earlier address, “<em> Sir. </em> To what do I owe the displeasure?”</p><p>Andrew wasn’t carted back to their room till later that night. </p><p>Another commander had given Aaron his own expected chewing out in the meantime. An ‘Aaron Minyard’ had swiped into the weapons hold earlier that morning, (explaining why his keycard was misplaced when he had woken up). A few knives were missing from the cache, nothing of terrible importance on a base loaded to the teeth with instruments that made a blade look like a kid’s toy. But it wasn't like Andrew to steal something he already had.</p><p>When they asked Aaron what Andrew was planning, he shrugged. Just because they bore the same face and blood type didn’t mean he could make sense of the madness, let alone the methods to wield it. He knew Andrew kept knives on him, and he knew Andrew wasn't interested in explaining the details. Aaron figured as long as he wasn't on the sharp end of them, it wasn't his business. More importantly, neither was it theirs. </p><p>What Andrew did and what graves he dug were Andrew’s problems and his alone, but he had never given Aaron reason to believe he was malicious...without reason.</p><p>Not knowing that intent kept him up well into the evening, and a few more hours Aaron didn't care to keep track of.</p><p>When Andrew was shoved unceremoniously back into their room that night, there was something...different in his mood. That same defiance he stood with that morning looked punched out, the set of his jaw a little more rigid than when he had left. His expression was the same, bored and uninterested like they'd taken him sightseeing through a white walled room, but there was a vacancy behind his eyes; a hollowed out space that even Aaron took notice of. </p><p>Aaron didn’t really pity his brother, <em> or </em>his way of skirting around official protocol, but even he had to admit the other was a sorry sight. </p><p>Then he noticed Andrew's hair—or lack thereof.</p><p>“Since when does broken protocol involve a haircut?” Aaron tried to keep the curiosity out of his voice, but the look Andrew slid him said he had missed his mark.</p><p>Andrew toed off his boots like it was any other evening. “Minor punishment.” </p><p>He couldn't help but think that was putting it oddly. Andrew certainly didn't buzz his hair down of his own volition. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that this 'minor punishment' was to ensure Andrew couldn't get mistaken for Aaron again—and for a fleeting moment, Aaron felt something like delight bloom in his chest. An active way to guarantee his own get out of jail free card and avoid getting tacked onto Andrew's laundry list of bad decisions in the face of authority. </p><p>Andrew didn't speak more on the matter, dragging himself into bed with little more than the sound of rustling sheets. A stolen glance told Aaron he wasn't sleeping, though. The frame of his shoulders was rigid and his breathing a forced metronome. Aaron wasn't going to question the behavior but there was something he couldn't shake.</p><p>"Thought you had a set of knives already," he said more to the ceiling than Andrew.</p><p>"I did." A pause. "Now I don't."</p><p>Aaron looked over to see Andrew watching him. That vacancy in his eyes was still lingering, but something else swirled under the surface.</p><p>He must have looked stupid because Andrew lifted the pillow minutely before letting it flop down against the bed again. Empty.</p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>"Confiscated," Aaron said aloud. </p><p>Andrew had been pressed about something a week ago, right after an impromptu inspection of their rooms. Aaron had been out at the time, a different part of the base for an exam. Andrew hadn't spoken to him when he came back, sat up at their desk with the same rigidity his shoulders held now. That in and of itself wasn't unusual, but when Aaron had woken the next day, it looked like he hadn't strayed from the spot all night. Andrew went to sleep last and woke up first, but now the dark circles under his eyes seemed far more telling.</p><p>"If you knew there's a chance they would be found, you can't really be upset that—"</p><p>"I don't remember asking for your opinion on the matter."</p><p>"And I don't remember giving you permission to fuck up my reputation with whatever bullshit stunt this was," Aaron bit back. His blood never boiled so fast than when Andrew couldn't just say what he meant. "Why do you even need them? Who here is so out to get you?"</p><p>Andrew's gaze shifted to something dark as he sat back up. If it weren't for the last couple years of basic training and getting to learn Andrew's <em> actual </em> tells, he would be clawing his way out the window, Andrew's body language far too loose to be anything but threatening. </p><p>"Sometimes, people take things from you, and the only way to guarantee it never happens again, is to make sure you're the one in control of the situation." Andrew waited for Aaron to speak, but when he couldn't find the words to reply to such an honest admission, Andrew spoke again, "I'm done with this. Go to sleep or I'll make sure tomorrow is hell for you too."</p><p>Aaron rolled over with Andrew's eyes still boring into his back. </p><p>Suddenly the idea of someone forcing a razor against Andrew's skin didn't elicit the same delight from before.</p><p> </p><p>___</p><p> </p><p>"What do you mean, <em>an</em> <em>accident</em>?"</p><p>Aaron looked just past the commander's ear, avoiding the direct eye contact for the sake of his own sanity. "I was past standard Commission length, sir. My hand slipped and trimmed too close. I was merely fixing what would be requested of me had I not before." <em> Saving myself the hassle </em>was more apt, but that might get him a little more than a slap on the wrist to get mouthy. </p><p>He wasn't Andrew.</p><p>Aaron tuned out the rest of the barking lecture, focusing on the way the chill crept down his scalp without any coverage. He hadn't had it shaved this close since his first year. </p><p>Aaron didn't have to turn to see his brother—dragged into this particular reprimanding for obvious reasons—standing a little straighter than the day prior. </p><p>A few days later and a couple more sleepless nights for Andrew, Aaron tossed a rolled towel onto the desk the other had begun to consider a bed. His brother eyed it with a tired glance, chin resting on the palm of his hand, but otherwise unphased. </p><p>"Open it."</p><p>Andrew roused at that, hand moving out from under his chin to unfurl the towel. When it's contents clanged, he stopped, turning to give Aaron a glare.</p><p>"What," Andrew said, somehow making it less of a question than usual.</p><p>"Don't say I never did anything for you." Aaron tossed over his shoulder. He owed a favor to the cousin he spoke to in letter only now, but Nicky wouldn't mention it, and Andrew wouldn't ask. </p><p>Andrew looked each one over with something not unlike interest, testing the points on the ends of his fingers. Four was all he could manage, and they weren't the ones Andrew had before, but they were something.</p><p>Aaron didn't claim to know Andrew beyond the surface, and he couldn't even say he found him all that enjoyable to be around. Pretending blood was thicker than water when they had only known each other for three years did them both a disservice that made Aaron gag. </p><p>He watched as Andrew slid one under his pillow and the others in his armbands. The thank you went unsaid when Andrew <em> actually </em> settled into bed for the first time in two weeks.</p><p>Aaron never got a thank you, but the lack of dark circles under Andrew's eyes the next day was gratitude enough.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>III.</p><p> </p><p>The third issue with having a twin only came up once a year.</p><p>They didn’t discuss it—<em> it </em> being a non issue. Neither of them acknowledged a day they didn’t care to celebrate. There was nothing <em> to </em> celebrate. </p><p>Aaron grew up with a mother that loved him on a distanced leash and then a cousin who tried to mend a fifteen year puzzle with half the pieces missing. But he tried, and Aaron acknowledged that when Nicky wasn’t around to hear it. </p><p>Andrew grew up shuffled through homes due to a mother that cut his leash early. Aaron didn’t know the specifics, but eventually it got bad enough that he was 'sold off' to the agency bootcamp, sealing any plans Andrew might have had for a different future under lock and key. </p><p>Aaron signed up for the service because he had an in with his mother’s name on it. He would move up the ladder and find something cushy, manageable hiccups along the way. Nicky didn’t like it, but Nicky didn’t get a lot of say in how Aaron felt about anything. </p><p>Andrew signed up for the job because he had to.</p><p>Little did they both know they would find themselves reunited on the same base. Aaron never was very good at predicting the future, and if Andrew was, he kept that misfortune to himself. Either way, he was sure whatever cosmic entity enjoyed pulling at their strings wouldn't let them get very far from the other, one way or another.</p><p>All that to say, if they celebrated, it was a bitter thing in passing.</p><p>So, Andrew requiring a blood transfusion from a particularly nasty run-in out in the field today meant it was just any other day, regardless of the time or the month.</p><p>Aaron had already set up the IV, Andrew unflinching and more interested in the window view. He had to give it to the agency: they skimped on a lot of things, but the pay more than made up for <em> most </em> complaints Aaron had. When he was allowed to stay at home and ignore his work for five minutes, he thought he may enjoy the way the sunset looked from here. </p><p>He had just stepped out of the room for a moment, grabbing a frozen bag of blood with Andrew’s name on it. (It was easier to prepare ahead of time. Andrew had a habit of losing more of it than he retained, and lucky for one of them, Aaron was nice enough to keep it on hand). When he returned, Andrew was letting smoke trail from his lips, eyes skimming over a note in hand. Aaron didn't catch what he was reading till he was halfway across the room.</p><p>“That’s not for you,” he snapped, snatching it out of Andrew’s hand. His twin didn’t flinch, hand still held up where he had held the little card.</p><p>Andrew looked up at Aaron through half lidded eyes. “Didn’t say it was.” </p><p>“Then keep your hands to yourself.”</p><p>Andrew didn’t deign him with a response, turning back to the window and continuing to blow smoke over the cracked open balcony. </p><p>Aaron expected...something. Anything else from the interaction, but Andrew stayed with his other arm laid across the table, a line of red stark in contrast against his skin. </p><p>He inspected the card like Andrew might have attempted to burn a hole in the center. It was a letter from Katelyn. Whereas Aaron had no interest in the day, Katelyn insisted on something, even if just a card while he was away. He found sentimentality didn't ring hollow when it played off her smile.</p><p>She worked as a nurse on base, away from the rest of the work the twins dealt with on a regular basis. It was nice to be around—<em> with </em> , he had to remind himself—someone who understood his work without <em> really </em> understanding it. They had met through obvious channels and he took a liking to her immediately: all bright smiles, but a tongue sharp enough to cut steel. He hadn’t really stood a chance in that regard.</p><p>The card was short and simple, a crude joke about surgeries and curing heartache with a cartoon syringe. At the bottom was a little note and a signature ending in a heart. Aaron fiddled with the corner of the card before he sat it back on a table behind them and idly wondered if Andrew had anyone do the same for him.</p><p>But it was fleeting as he remembered that the reason Katelyn <em> wasn’t </em> here was because Andrew <em> was.  </em></p><p>Every unfortunate meeting had left them all butting heads. Andrew found something to needle her about, and she found a way bite back enough to get Andrew’s jaw to tick. Aaron did his best to avoid having them in the same room at any given time now. He knew <em> why </em> Andrew didn’t like her, but the tired excuse of “you shouldn’t have relationships in this line of work if you want to keep your head” only grew more exhausting as the years went on. Plus, Aaron had the sinking suspicion Andrew was a hypocrite in every sense of the word.</p><p>But tonight, Andrew stayed quiet. He continued to smoke, leaning his head back against the chair and looking surprisingly relaxed for a man who just got back from a three week stake out in thirty degrees below anything Aaron considered reasonable temperatures. When he had shown up earlier that night, with barely an hour’s worth of a head’s up, Aaron hadn’t had much in the way of comments.</p><p>“You look like shit.”</p><p>“Feel like it too,” Andrew had said pushing past him.</p><p>“They sure love breaking your nose in that one spot.” Aaron had at least tried to keep the amusement out of his tone.</p><p>Andrew didn’t share in the joke. “Unfortunate for you. I become the prettier twin with every punch.”</p><p>The usual silence crept in between them after that, seamless and undaunting. Neither of them were ever full of conversation, even after ten years of “getting to know each other.” Aaron didn’t feel the need to fill silence and Andrew only spoke when he wanted to. It worked. It didn’t matter what day it was and neither was interested in fostering more than that.</p><p>As always in the ever changing current he called a life, things were never easy. He thought back to the final words on the card with a sigh:</p><p>
  <em> Please try. </em>
</p><p>He hated it, if he was honest. It didn’t bother him that Andrew and him were a team first, and blood second—third or fourth even, shortly after mutual nuisances and unfortunate acquaintances. He had tried in basics that first week, and Andrew made it clear that there was nothing <em> to </em> try. There wasn’t anything to fix because nothing was broken, because it wasn’t anything to begin with. Strangers was an understatement and a fact, and partners was the end goal, which they met with startling efficiency.</p><p>But Katelyn had asked him to try and Aaron had a lot of trouble saying no to her.</p><p>So, he was going to try.</p><p>(Aaron remembered the few birthdays he spent with Nicky. They were simple because that was all they could afford. But Nicky remembered his favorite desserts and the few interests Aaron had, and for an adult who could barely claim the term, it meant more than Aaron could express. </p><p>He should call Nicky soon.)</p><p>Aaron stood, moving to the kitchen and digging into the back of a cabinet. He pulled out an amber bottle; nothing fancy, shelved for a few years when Aaron had bought it originally and lost the courage to gift it the first time. It was Andrew’s favorite—not that he had ever said so explicitly, but Aaron picked up on things over the years. </p><p>Basic rarely let them drink, but Andrew found ways to smuggle things in, far better than Aaron ever thought possible, but he’d only tried once and succeeded in his own smuggling. He didn’t like testing his not-quite-luck. Andrew always drank the same brand, always smoked the same cigarettes; a creature of habit, and few surprises. Simple.</p><p>Aaron grabbed a glass and steeled himself with another heavy sigh. </p><p>Andrew quirked a brow as Aaron set the glass down in front of him, eyes sliding to the bottle as it appeared. “Isn’t it against doctor’s orders to drink and—” he gestured to the blood currently pumping into his veins.</p><p>“Smoking is ill advised too, but you never seem to listen to me on that either,” Aaron commented, pouring the drink just this side of stiff and placing the bottle on the table. He didn’t need to look up to know Andrew’s eyes were resting on him steadily. He took his place back on the couch again, glaring holes into the card and demanding approval. </p><p>“What do you want me to do with this?”</p><p>Aaron expected this. “I think people usually drink it.” </p><p>“There’s only one glass.”</p><p>“Well, double fisting with the bottle right there seems excessive,” Aaron deadpanned, shifting his gaze from the table and the card still encouraging him to try. Andrew was staring at him, not expectantly because Andrew didn’t wait on anyone or anything, but with a look that definitely suggested <em> if you don’t get one, I will </em>. And Aaron wasn't in the mood to readjust his IV if he fucked it up.</p><p>Aaron and drinking hadn't mixed well after basics. Too many unresolved...loose ends, and more hang ups than he could care to count made the whole thing a necessary chore rather than a way to relax. Though, he guessed Andrew didn’t really drink for the taste either. </p><p>They never drank together per se—same room, sure—but never actively drank together. Andrew would have his couple of glasses, and Aaron would double that. It wasn’t a competition and Andrew never took it as one. Getting completely wasted was out of the question, of course. Next day hangovers were never kind, and the commanders even less so. Making the connection that his self inflicted headaches tended to be worse than his residual family issues was better late than never.</p><p>It only occurred to Aaron when he was done pouring the second drink that this wasn’t an offer to relive basics or even an offer to talk about <em> why </em>. It was just Andrew’s version of an olive branch. His way of trying. </p><p>Andrew clinked their glasses together before Aaron could pick his up, raising it briefly in acknowledgement and drinking the glass dry. Aaron stared at his own glass for a moment, raising it in the same salute before taking a more reasonable drink. He watched Andrew pour another, this time following Aaron’s slow pace, eye trained out the window. </p><p>“Next time your girlfriend puts you up to something, tell her to save it for somebody who cares.”</p><p>Aaron made a face. “I’ll be sure to send her the compliment.”</p><p>Andrew flicked his cigarette out the window as Aaron took a seat on the other side of the table. Another lit up out of the corner of Aaron’s eye and he was tempted to cut the damn thing in half.</p><p>But an olive branch sat between them now. He wasn’t ready to cut that in half yet.</p><p>It was simple, but maybe that’s all they needed.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>IV.</p><p> </p><p>“So the Foxes are up by three, right? And they’re about to score again, but the back line—Careful. There’s six on the inside, two in the right corridor, and one rounding the balcony. If you head west in...fifteen seconds, you’ll miss all of them—So the back line gets divided because—”</p><p>“Can we keep the comms clear for fuck’s sake.”</p><p>“Oh, Aaron. Didn’t realize you’d joined.”</p><p>“I’ve been here the whole time.”</p><p>“Can you <em> both </em> shut up.”</p><p>Hit jobs weren't solo jobs. It took a team, most times a small group at the least, to keep a mission running smoothly. Only one person pulled the trigger, but there was a red string tied to each knuckle from start to finish. </p><p>Aaron and Andrew worked most of their missions together. Where Andrew went into the field, Aaron waited til he was called in for medical evacuation—if needed. Most of the time it was him waiting for Andrew to call, Andrew never calling, and then waiting for Andrew to show up with more than a few minor injuries and looking at Aaron like the whole thing was below his threshold of interest. He could count the number of times on one hand that Andrew had called the devil up on short notice, but it still left something buzzing under his skin while he waited for the call.</p><p>Working most missions together meant Aaron had to sit in on comms more often than not in case he was needed. </p><p>Unfortunately, this also meant he had to deal with Neil Josten.</p><p>Not that he would ever admit it, but Neil <em> was </em> good at his job. Better than good. With a nearly spotless record for successful hits, he and Andrew <em> also </em> worked well together. Nothing in the field missed his eye, and he had an almost scary ability to predict enemy movement. This kept Andrew out of unnecessary trouble—that he didn’t intentionally create himself—and ensured there were no slip ups. Reliable asset didn't begin to cover it.</p><p>It all just came at the cost of having to hear Neil speak.</p><p>Aaron wasn’t sure when Neil started to grate on his nerves. Most comm experts were abrasive, not that Aaron could speak for anyone but his own attitude problems. This job guaranteed if you didn't have a chip on your shoulder when you joined, you'd surely see yourself out with a few. Though, it wasn't necessarily <em> Neil </em> that Aaron disliked, but the idea that Neil was the reason Aaron learned what the words ‘Andrew’ and ‘fond’ sounded like together in the same breath.</p><p>It was a slow progression, and it wasn’t like Aaron was paying that close of attention to really notice at first. To anyone else, Andrew sounded like he found Neil to be more of an annoying background noise than an aid in the field. Andrew would bark at Neil to swallow his tongue, and when Neil wouldn't, Andrew would find a more colorful image to paint while Neil continued to smirk along. They exchanged less than amicable jabs, musings about the morbid reality of mortality (mostly from Neil's mouth), and yet, a strange sense of comradery. Aaron found it disturbing that anyone could keep conversation with Andrew for so long, but he supposed the agency paid a little extra for 'Andrew' collateral.  </p><p>But Aaron wasn’t stupid, and Neil wasn’t always the most subtle when he spoke. It was in the way that Andrew let Neil fill a silence as he saw fit, or the way he didn't bother to tell the other man he had no interest in whatever inane topic Neil was paddling about that day. It was in the way he asked Andrew how he slept, and told him to keep an eye on a minor injury. It was in the way he spoke softly before every mission, like no one was around to hear:<em> Come home safe. </em></p><p>“How can you listen to him talk so much?” Aaron asked one day after Neil had called the mission over and left Andrew and Aaron on the line.</p><p>“You try shutting him up.”</p><p>That was an interesting response coming from a man who could find a way to bend anyone to his will, in and out of the field. Interrogation comms had nothing on the banter that came with those two, though. Aaron made a mental note to use the playbacks as a method of torture.</p><p>“Didn’t realize you and Sleepless in Seattle were so close."</p><p>Andrew didn’t respond and <em> that </em> was even more interesting.</p><p>After that, Aaron started listening a little more closely. He wasn’t a gossip, and he was hardly interested in his brother’s personal affairs, but if there was even a chance his brother had taken a liking to someone, he’d eat his own stethoscope. </p><p>Neil talked to hear himself—Aaron’s opinion, probably not entirely false, though. More often than not, Andrew wouldn’t respond, occasionally grunting in reply to something Neil said or asked him to confirm. Sometimes he would offer up something, rarely personal, but a response all the same to Neil’s endless waterfall of words. Neil would always see it as some kind of encouragement and get spurred into another tangent, Andrew only quieting him when something came up. The first time he heard Andrew snort at a joke Neil made, Aaron was certain he had imagined it.</p><p>One night on a particularly long stake out, Neil had yawned. It was deserved, after nearly twenty four hours of round the clock surveillance, but Aaron wasn’t in the mood to cut Neil slack when Andrew still had a job to do. He was about to say as much when his twin beat him to the punch.</p><p>“If you fall asleep, this next bullet’s got your name on it.”</p><p>Neil laughed, light and airy, like one of their best hitmen didn’t just threaten to send him to an early grave. “How romantic. Wining and dining is overrated anyways.” </p><p>Aaron wanted to gag. </p><p>“I’m serious,” Andrew said, but it lacked the usual hard edge Aaron had come to expect from his twin in conversations like this. The sound of a lighter catching could be heard from Andrew’s end.</p><p>“Kevin’s in town this week.” Another yawn crackled through Neil’s mic. “He would take over if he thought I was going to fuck anything up too terribly.” </p><p>Kevin was Andrew’s other comms specialist, and Aaron’s preferred brand of talkative: which was to say, not at all. Kevin used to work in the field, another one of their better agents, before an accident sidelined him from active duty. The details were “confidential,” but the phrase “rogue partner” didn’t hide in files for very long. Aaron hadn’t been partnered with Kevin on that mission, but he was the one who had put Kevin back together again when it was over. Neither of them spoke on it without a few drinks. So, he worked communications after that, swapping with Neil from time to time. </p><p>Andrew seemed content with that knowledge and Aaron settled back into his skin, smoothing down the hackles he tried not to raise too often. Neil must have forgotten Aaron was on the call—or didn’t care—because he continued on. </p><p>“You’re coming home after this one, right?” </p><p>Aaron couldn’t help but notice Andrew’s vitals jump on screen, heartbeat stuttering not unlike the times he pulled the trigger.</p><p>The long drag of a cigarette played over the comms before Andrew spoke a minute later, “I don’t know.”</p><p>Neil hummed, nonplussed by Andrew’s vague response. “We miss you. Your side of the bed’s been pretty cold. It’s making Sir a little cranky.”</p><p>There was a lot in that sentence Aaron couldn’t wrap his head around, but more importantly was Andrew’s easy reply.</p><p>“Which one is that again?”</p><p>Neil laughed, just as fond as he had before, “You can’t keep pretending you can’t tell them apart. I know you play favorites.”</p><p>“I hate them both equally.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“In fact, I hate all three of you equally,” Andrew said, sounding like he didn’t hate Neil at all. </p><p>“You either hate me a little less than you did five minutes ago—” Aaron could hear the smile in Neil’s voice. “—or I’m finally on par with your other favorite lap warmers.”</p><p>Aaron turned his headset down low for the rest of the evening, content that Neil had it covered. </p><p> </p><p>—-</p><p> </p><p>For the most part, it never came up—whatever it was that was going on between Andrew and Neil. Aaron was content to never ask and Andrew never volunteered information normally. This was no exception. </p><p>It was another blessed day that Kevin was on comms that things <em> actually </em> clicked. </p><p>“Andrew, focus.”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“Doesn’t look like it.” </p><p>“Didn’t fucking ask, <em> Day </em>.”</p><p>If Aaron didn’t like Kevin before, he at least held him in a certain regard for being able to dig under Andrew’s skin in a way that wasn’t totally destructive, but certainly satisfying. If Andrew was able to express the kind of annoyance his readings gave off, it would be hell for everyone. As it stood, even though Kevin’s approach was the exact opposite of Neil’s, it found a way to ground Andrew during his mission, and that’s what mattered. </p><p>Aaron hoped this mission would be in and out. As weird as it was to say, the holidays were coming up and for once, Aaron was looking forward to the time off. He and Katelyn had planned for something nice, a warm getaway to a place of her choosing. He wasn’t even sure he caught the name, happy just to hear her happy.</p><p>Conversationally, because that’s apparently who Aaron had become after Katelyn’s warmth had managed to slip under his skin after so long, he asked if Andrew was doing anything for the occasion.</p><p>The response was an unimpressed, “If you’re about to suggest I spend the holiday surrounded by loved ones—” Andrew didn’t finish the sentence, but Aaron could tell where it was going. Bee was the only person Aaron thought Andrew considered a loved one, but you’d have to pull every tooth from his head before he would admit it. She may have taken him in at his lowest, but Andrew didn’t speak lightly on the subject of family.</p><p>(Though, he had never said a cross word about her that Aaron could remember and Andrew’s frequent outgoing calls to her suggested something not unlike muted adoration).</p><p>“I’d rather swallow my surgical saw,” Aaron suggested in turn. </p><p>Katelyn <em> had </em> offered for them to stay, another way to keep trying. The reaction now was what he told her was to be expected from Andrew. He spent most holidays working and the ones he didn’t? Just another question Aaron didn’t ask. Though, this time it was more that he didn’t <em> want </em> the answer. Having a taste of his own happiness made something stir like a poison in his veins when he thought of missing out on that. </p><p>So, when Kevin prompted the question over a previously dead line, Aaron found himself once again surprised. </p><p>“Neil wants to know if you’re working this year,” Kevin asked, stern like it was an important part of the mission. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Andrew said without hesitation. </p><p>Aaron found it odd that Andrew would blatantly lie. They didn’t work together on every mission, but Aaron knew Andrew’s schedule better than he knew his own. Unless something came up in the last five minutes, Aaron would have known about it. And if Aaron recalled correctly, which it was hard to forget when it was a gold standard for his twin, Andrew <em> hated </em> lying. </p><p>“He seems to think you promised,” Kevin pushed.</p><p>“I told him I would think about it,” Andrew pushed harder.</p><p>Kevin sighed, put out, but unwilling to drag the issue through the mud further. “You get to tell him then.” </p><p>A distant voice picked up on Kevin’s mic, “Tell me what?” A voice that suspiciously sounded like Neil. </p><p>Aaron idly wondered how often those two shared communication space. Kevin was normally teamed with Jean, and Aaron was pretty sure they lived a continent apart. Not that travel was uncommon for this line of work. Aaron couldn’t remember what his front door looked like after so many months away sometimes. </p><p>Kevin, usually the professional on jobs, didn’t mute his mic as he spoke, “I’ll let Andrew bear the bad news.” </p><p>There was a rustle over the microphone, and a few muffled words before Neil was back on the line.</p><p>“Andrew? Why is Kevin giving me <em> that </em> look?” It was the first time he had ever heard Neil sound so disappointed. </p><p>Andrew was quiet on the line for a while; long enough that the silence on the comms nearly convinced Aaron that his line had been cut. If Aaron found himself holding his breath, then that was between him and the black box recording. </p><p>He had made a lot of stupid decisions in his life, joining basics to find himself here being the biggest, but his next words were probably the ones that would get him killed:</p><p>“He’ll be there.”</p><p>“Aaron?” Neil asked.</p><p>Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose. Time to double down. “He’s not working.” </p><p>The silence over the comm was now deafening. He hoped Katelyn would be proud of him at the funeral.</p><p>“Kevin, turn the comm off,” Andrew spoke with no inflection.</p><p>There was a loud scoff before Kevin’s muffled voice sounded through the mic, “Absolutely not.” </p><p>“Kevin.”</p><p>“This isn’t up for debate, Andrew. We don’t turn comms off anymore. You <em> know </em> that,” Kevin’s voice stayed firm. Aaron knew what happened the last time a comm went dead on a mission. Aaron thought back to the hollow look Kevin held when Aaron had worked on his hand, assessing the damage as Kevin continued to tell him he couldn’t feel any of it. His only question a repeated: <em> Where’s Jean? </em></p><p>Aaron interjected into a conversation he didn’t belong in once more, “I won’t let him do anything stupid.” </p><p>He could <em> hear </em> Andrew’s glare through the line, but if he had any qualms, they were stifled for the moment. “Five minutes. Then turn it back on.”</p><p>Kevin didn’t seem convinced, and Neil still didn’t speak on the matter.</p><p>Andrew’s tone softened at the edges as he repeated himself, “Turn it off.”</p><p>“Five minutes,” Kevin conceded after a long moment and Aaron heard the line click. </p><p>“What’s your problem?” Aaron had expected an immediate threat to his person, so this was an upgrade.</p><p>Aaron shrugged, knowing his brother couldn’t see it. “You’re obviously lying.”</p><p>“That’s none of your business.” It wasn’t denial. </p><p>Aaron thought back to the first time he had tried to tell Katelyn he was busy; to build up that wall Andrew had drilled into him that was so necessary to maintain his sanity and what little sense of fractured relationships he had. Even in his personal line of work, there was always a chance he might not come back—<em> come home. </em> Which meant there was always that chance any threads he had would stay frayed. There was no clean cut waiting by the phone for someone that might not pick up again. </p><p>Aaron wasn’t Andrew, but that didn’t mean they weren’t both fools. </p><p>“Why deny yourself a chance?” <em> To be happy </em> went unsaid.</p><p>“I’m not in the habit of making promises I can’t keep,” Andrew said, like the words weren’t supposed to work in that order and he was still tasting them on his tongue for the first time. </p><p>“Then keep this one.”</p><p>It was a challenge. One to both Andrew and himself.</p><p>At the five minute mark exactly, a faint buzz clicked over the line, Kevin’s voice coming through with a touch of anxiety it hadn't left with. "Andrew, confirm your coordinates."</p><p>Aaron expected Andrew to wind Kevin up even a little, but he gave the coordinates and call signs without a biting remark. Kevin settled at that, content that he hadn’t cost them anything but a five minute window that Andrew could make up for. </p><p>The elephant in the room stood vigilant, waiting for the breath no one seemed to be taking. </p><p>“I’ll be there,” Andrew said simply. </p><p>Kevin hadn’t muted his mic fast enough, the delight in Neil’s voice ringing clear before cutting abruptly. When Kevin spoke again, it was a repeat to focus on the mission at hand and to avoid distractions. Funny, when he was the biggest distraction on the line. But maybe that in and of itself was a promise.</p><p>Kevin's parting words to Andrew stuck with him:</p><p>
  <em> Come home safe. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>V.</p><p> </p><p>The day they received their roles haunted Aaron.</p><p>There were a lot of questions he would never ask Andrew. There were even more answers Andrew would never give him—even <em> if </em> Aaron knew what questions to ask. But sometimes one would sit in his chest like an uninvited guest, lingering and knocking at the space between his ribs to be let out. It was hard to spend the majority of his life around someone he didn’t know, and even harder knowing that could have been very different. </p><p>They both had been through the necessary boot camps, both were equipped in weapons training and hand to hand combat. Andrew’s proficiency in knives was practiced and lethal, where Aaron’s was accurate, but deadly. They complimented each other in most aspects, and the bonus of looking alike—once a curse, now a benefit—only added to their compatibility in the field. </p><p>There were faults of course. No one was perfect.</p><p>A stray shot too close to Andrew’s ear from a petty recruit left a ringing in his ears, but no one would know unless they were told. A constant stream of low music played when he was working, and Aaron supposed Neil filled the gaps between each beat. </p><p>Aaron couldn’t stand the sight of blood under his nails. A minor problem in the long run once he had learned to push the need to scrub them raw aside to focus. Andrew never mentioned when he had to step back for a moment to clear his head. A small mercy.</p><p>“One of you will be the mark. The other support. Any questions?”</p><p>Neither of them moved as they were addressed. The only one bouncing around Aaron’s mind was how they were going to pick—</p><p>“Which will it be?”</p><p>Aaron froze.</p><p>He couldn’t chance a look at Andrew without the consequences of offending a superior commander. He had been prepared to be assigned a role, not given the opportunity to choose the rest of his life’s work. Sure, there would be times he would end up with blood on his hands either way, but one of these would involve drowning in it. Self sacrificing was stupid, and Andrew would belittle him for it to his dying day, but maybe that was a tie he was willing to fray. </p><p>Aaron opened his mouth—</p><p>“I’ll be the mark.”</p><p>—but Andrew was the one who spoke. </p><p>Aaron couldn’t help himself now, “<em> What? </em>” </p><p>Were they really not going to discuss this?</p><p>“It’s settled then. You'll receive your first assignment—” Aaron didn’t catch the rest.</p><p>Andrew was facing forward, ignoring the way Aaron was balking at him. His brow was forced relaxed, but his jaw had a tick in it. This was one of those questions Andrew wasn’t going to answer. </p><p>Their commanding officer barked for Aaron’s attention and he was forced to let it go. </p><p>Fast forward a decade and he still hadn’t let it go.</p><p>Andrew was sat up in the dead of night, cleaning kit laid out in front of him in perfect order: Slide. Recoil. Barrel. Pins. Striker. Frame. Magazine. It was meticulous in its organization, each component cleaned with a delicate hand one might reserve for something with more of a pulse. If Aaron had to guess, it was therapeutic for the other man; something to focus on, something to channel that lingering energy into. Maybe he was projecting, or maybe they just had one more thing in common. </p><p>Aaron took another sip from his drink, the little bit leftover from a bottle from a celebration they didn’t celebrate. The last run had been hard and the necessary chore was back in order. Just for a night.</p><p>“Can I ask you something?” His tongue was loose and he was feeling comfortable—probably too comfortable to be personable, but digging graves was in the Minyard DNA.</p><p>Andrew didn’t look up from his task, cloth running along the barrel in slow circles that left it shining. “Depends.”</p><p>“On what?”</p><p>“A scale of one to stupid.”</p><p>Aaron rolled that around for a moment as Andrew attended to each pin. “Solid eleven.” </p><p>The quick exhale of air was probably the closest Aaron had ever heard to a laugh from Andrew. Aaron was almost upset he was about to ruin it by opening his mouth again.</p><p>“Why’d you volunteer?” </p><p>Andrew’s movements hitched. He didn’t look up, but his brow furrowed just the slightest. Aaron knew Andrew knew what he was talking about. Maybe it didn’t eat Andrew up like it did Aaron, but he had to know.</p><p>“Does it matter?” Andrew replied, moving onto the magazine, turning it over in his hands.</p><p>In the long run, it probably didn’t. “Yes.”</p><p>Andrew didn’t reply as he reassembled the pieces, each click and slide of the gun sounding louder than the last. Aaron watched him, hands steady as ever.</p><p><em> Steady as a surgeon </em>. </p><p>That was how they’d been described when recommended to their superiors. </p><p>Where others shook or fumbled with their weapons, Andrew and Aaron rarely lost that control. There was no tremble, no stutter in their movements; still as statues under any pressure. It was admirable really in any skill set, but the more Aaron thought about how such a talent was used so differently between them regularly—how Andrew had chosen that—the alcohol in his veins settled sour. </p><p>“You do your job, and I’ll do mine,” Andrew said without any heat. He placed the gun down, eyes sliding to Aaron’s. Gears were turning, like he was deciding on how much he should say; what he was willing to give up in a conversation that should have happened a long time ago when it was still reasonable to ask. </p><p>“Forget I asked—” Aaron decided he didn’t want to know. The answer would probably haunt him more than the question.</p><p>“I wasn’t done,” Andrew bit off.</p><p>Aaron took another drink, brow raised. Andrew didn’t keep him waiting.</p><p>“At the end of the day the same blood gets spilled.” Andrew didn’t say anything he didn’t intend, and he didn’t mince words. “As long as it’s not ours, I don't care who pulls the trigger.” </p><p>Aaron thought that ‘ours’ sounded suspiciously like ‘yours.’ He blamed  it on the drink.</p><p>Aaron let that play on loop as he sank back into his chair, eyes resting on the gun sitting neatly in the middle of the table between them. He couldn’t help but feel like the words had been spoken before, not that he had heard them, but they felt rehearsed. Like Andrew had been waiting to answer it for some time. </p><p>“Sounds like a bad deal with the devil,” Aaron mused around the lip of his drink. He thought about pouring another, but something else occurred to him before he could think to reach for the bottle. “You did it so I wouldn’t have to.”</p><p>Andrew’s jaw set.</p><p>Silence had been one of Andrew’s greatest tells. </p><p>Aaron nodded to himself. There were times he thought that maybe Andrew had just assumed he wasn’t cut out for it. Steady hands didn’t mean anything if he wasn’t prepared to stare down a sight and finish the job. Paper targets didn’t bleed and training dummies didn’t beg for their lives. He could count on one hand the number of times he had played god for someone he wasn’t trying to save. </p><p>Andrew had a filing cabinet worth.</p><p>He said he remembered each, knew exactly the time and place and how it happened. He hadn’t said it like something that <em> didn’t </em> follow him. It wasn’t a looming guilt that hovered in the corners of his mind, or played on some horrible loop—not like it would for Aaron.</p><p>It was just a job, but it came with a price. </p><p>Retirement was a luxury for anyone that could reach it in their positions. Aaron most likely would. He wasn’t in the heat of a fight as often as Andrew. He would get to settle down at some point with more money than he could count to keep more secrets than he could remember. He would see a life outside of gunshots and bloodshed. He would get that chance—if he was smart and played his cards right. </p><p>Andrew most likely knew this. </p><p>Which meant he also knew being the mark would guarantee none of that for himself.</p><p>It wasn’t about taking the shot. It was about what came after. </p><p>Aaron looked up and met Andrew’s steady gaze. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”</p><p>“No. You didn’t.”</p><p>“Then why?”</p><p>“Because,” Andrew said as he stood, holstering his gun. He tipped the bottle on the table, eyeing the remainder of the contents. There was barely a swallow left and Aaron wasn’t going to fight him for it. But Andrew left it where he found it, turning towards the door. </p><p>“Why deny yourself the chance?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>VI.</p><p> </p><p>Dying wasn’t exactly what Aaron thought it would be. </p><p>Wrong place and wrong time always happened to someone else before it could ever happen to him. </p><p>He was angry, though. Angry at the job, angry at himself, angry at the way it hurt to breathe when his breath wasn’t shallow enough. </p><p>He had been watching over a new recruit; a rookie in every regard. Everything should have gone off without a hitch. Neil was on comms, much to Aaron’s disdain, but it meant he didn’t have as much to worry about. The target was easy, the clean up even easier. </p><p>But the recruit had been more than a hothead—worse than Andrew had ever been. He didn’t listen to direction, chose his own paths and scoffed when Neil threatened to call the whole thing off. It was that kind of attitude—the lone wolf approach—that got people killed. </p><p>And well, that’s exactly what happened.</p><p>He had walked in on too many guards, listening to his own pride before the voice screaming at him to get it together. Neil rarely got heated, Aaron used to hearing the carefree way he spoke to Andrew. (It dawned on him now just how different Andrew was after Neil had been partnered with them.) He had done everything he could, but stupidity was its own reward. </p><p>Unluckily for Aaron, someone else’s suicide mission was his clean up job. If there was still a chance, he had to <em> try </em>.</p><p>The first shot had barely grazed him, but the ringing in Aaron’s ears left him dazed as Neil tried to talk him through where he needed to be. It sounded a little placating, and maybe even a little comforting despite his stern insistence. A mental note was made to bark at him about it later. </p><p>Aaron nearly made it to cover, a place to collect himself. He still hadn’t found the new recruit and he was running out of time, if the garbled voice in his ears was anything to go off of. </p><p>The second shot was a direct hit. </p><p>Aaron was only able to get as far as a sectioned off basement, the loud click of a deadbolt the sweetest nothing in his still ringing ears. He fumbled down the stairs, pain beginning to register, but his need to assess the damage greater than any threshold. Feeling around to his back, he winced. No exit wound. His mind raced through the steps he needed to take: get somewhere safe, follow the line of the shot, and—and—-</p><p>He didn’t have any of his medical supplies, dumped halfway back when he had realized that his mark’s suicide mission was now probably his own. His earpiece had been ripped out with the first shot and searching his pockets secured him nothing of use. His phone must have gotten lost in the struggle.</p><p>He had waited too long to call in backup, insisting to Neil he was quick enough on his feet. But with no way to track where his recruit had gone, his comms and location going dark when Aaron had dropped on point, he lost track. He was stupid to ignore his instinct, stupid to ignore Neil too.</p><p>The panic that left him in as soon as it hit. </p><p>This was all part of the job.</p><p>Adapting Andrew’s way of thinking at the end of the day was almost laughable, but maybe that’s how Andrew felt after every close call. Just like Andrew could name every target, Aaron could name every one of Andrew’s dances with the devil. He knew every scar Andrew had left on himself, and all the ones Aaron had had to unfortunately add to. On the spot surgeries rarely looked pretty when they were done. If Andrew was ever bothered by them, he didn’t mention it.</p><p>Aaron stumbled to a corner of the room, crates stacked up to provide a little more cover. He might be dying, but it would be nice to avoid any extra holes that he could avoid.</p><p>The gunfire upstairs had come to a sudden halt, but he couldn’t dwell on it. They were more than likely searching for him rather than continuing to pockmark every wall. Bullets weren’t free. Aaron idly wondered who the clean up crew for the clean up crew was. If he was it, there was an incredible amount of job security in that. Didn’t really matter now, though.</p><p>Andrew was on another job, halfway across the world, and that was unfortunate. He would have been good to have around on this one—for all that they didn’t get along, </p><p>But that wasn’t entirely true was it?</p><p>He had repeated the phrase so often, he had just kept assuming it true. </p><p>Sure, Andrew pissed him off to no end: He kept everything to himself, needled Aaron any chance he got, refused to be anything but a nuisance—but he wasn’t all that bad. And if Aaron could be so bold, maybe his twin had grown on him. </p><p>Blood being thicker than water was bullshit of course. That notion he would die with. But for every time he had tried, Andrew had too. Aaron should have given him more credit for that. Maybe he would be leaving more of a frayed end than he thought.</p><p>A noise at the top of the stairs had his head lulling towards the sound—when had it gotten so hard to stay propped up?</p><p>Aaron knew people began to hallucinate when the fates began pulling their strings, but he hoped that maybe he would have some kind of pleasant oasis. Maybe he would see Katelyn one last time. </p><p>He didn’t expect to see an Andrew splashed in red and surveying the room from the top of the staircase. It didn’t look like his own.</p><p>“That’s kind of morbid,” Aaron muttered to himself. Andrew’s attention snapped to him instantly. There was a look in his eyes that Aaron had never seen, something like fear, but that didn’t fit quite right on his features. Minds were a funny thing. “Could have at least cleaned up a little to see me out.” </p><p>Andrew look the steps two at a time and landed in front of Aaron faster than he could keep up with. There was a hand pushing his own away from the wound and Aaron tried to keep it steady, mentally cursing the hallucination from letting him keep his last few precious seconds. And to think he had just been whistling Andrew’s praises.</p><p>“Stop moving,” Andrew said, smacking his hand away. It felt a little too real for a hallucination.</p><p>“Andrew?”</p><p>“No. It’s your fairy fucking godmother,” Andrew deadpanned. He shoved Aaron’s hand back over the wound, a silent demand to keep it exactly where it was. </p><p>“Why are you here?”</p><p>Andrew gave him a look that suggested he had never heard anything quite as stupid in his life. “You’re dying. I’m not letting you. I think that should be obvious.” </p><p>“Didn’t you say this happens all the time?” He tried to laugh, but it came out choked. It occurred to him distantly <em> how </em>Andrew might be here. And then it hit him. It was against protocol in every regard, but it made sense. Andrew of course would find the one interested in breaking the rules a suitable partner. “Neil called.”</p><p>“Neil called,” Andrew affirmed. </p><p>Aaron hummed. That was nice of him; stupid, but nice. He would thank him if he got the chance. Maybe. </p><p>“Weren’t you halfway to—” Aaron gestured vaguely into the air. Details were fuzzy. </p><p>“Was,” Andrew said. His next words were interrupted as he pressed two fingers to his ear, listening. Nodding once, he lifted Aaron’s arm up, testing where he should be lifting him. Aaron scrabbled to keep himself upright without clinging to Andrew, biting into his lip with enough force to break the skin. Andrew didn’t give him time to change his mind and sit back down, looping Aaron’s arm over his shoulders, practically dragging him. </p><p>Aaron tried to protest. He needed to get the bullet out. There were precautions. There was so much to take into account. Andrew would have made a terrible medic he decided now. </p><p>“I don’t want to have a conversation with Katelyn,” Andrew continued, balancing Aaron on the stair’s railing and calculating the best way up and out.</p><p>Aaron tried to quirk his brow, but he didn’t think Andrew was paying much attention to sarcastic expressions right now. “You never do. What makes this time so special?”</p><p>“I made her a promise.”</p><p>Aaron didn’t have a snappy retort to that. He wondered when that had happened. They never got along, and they certainly didn’t talk without Aaron around. Maybe she had been trying herself.</p><p>He did his best not to outright whine as Andrew hoisted him up, Aaron little more than a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. He wanted to protest, but his pride took a backseat to his self preservation. </p><p>Aaron caught glimpses between the spots in his vision: a busted door lock, bullet holes and knives littering the hall he didn’t remember seeing on his first trip through. A couple more bodies too. For once, Aaron didn’t have to ask the question on the end of his tongue. But he still had something to say.</p><p>“Hey Andrew,” his words slurred despite his best efforts. </p><p>“Do not give me some stupid speech. I’ll leave you here.”</p><p>“I don’t believe you.”</p><p>“You should.”</p><p>Aaron couldn’t laugh again, but more words were dancing on his tongue, ones he had wanted to say for a while. Bullshit things like: ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re not the worst person to be around.’ The type of words that Andrew would scoff at and demand he choke on. </p><p>He felt his grip loosening just the slightest where it held onto Andrew’s shirt, the faint sound of helicopter wings ringing in his ear. Reasonably, he knew he wasn’t going to die now, a comforting thought at the end of the day. He would get to see Katelyn again, probably have kids, grow old like he hadn’t given himself the chance to imagine up for too long.</p><p>Aaron would probably also unfortunately get to know Neil better, and if he had any say in the matter, also get to watch him and Andrew grow old together too. It was a tough compromise, but Aaron guessed he could budge a little. </p><p>And it was all thanks to a brother who did everything he could to pretend he was a complete asshole for the greater part of three decades—something Aaron was beginning to realize Andrew was actually very bad at. </p><p>Setting him down, Andrew’s eyes searched over any other injuries on Aaron as they waited on evac. His gaze hung up just over Aaron’s shoulder, probably making the connection between his grazed ear and lack of earpiece. Aaron knew by the look he wanted to say something, some smart quip that Aaron was too out of it to mock himself. He stayed quiet, though, and for once Aaron appreciated the choice for silence. </p><p>Whatever look he had seen on Andrew’s face on the stairs had been replaced by steady determination as he watched the wings touch down somewhere behind Aaron. </p><p>Probably a side effect of the haze over Aaron’s brain, then. Andrew didn’t fear death like that. His mind set a firm wall down before he could think of the flip side of what Andrew might have feared. </p><p>Maybe he would take his own advice next time, wouldn’t wait so long. It was nice knowing he had someone to count on when he needed it.</p><p>He hoped Andrew felt the same.</p>
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